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by EmilliaGryphon



Category: MCU, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Stucky - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Infinity War, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:44:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilliaGryphon/pseuds/EmilliaGryphon
Summary: Everyone from the Soul Realm has returned, or so Steve thinks. But he still can't find Bucky. Even if he could, who knows if he'll be stable? Who knows what they'll do or where they'll go?Or my wish for Steve and Buck after IW *CONTAINS SPOILERS*





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skarabrae_stone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skarabrae_stone/gifts).



> I usually live over in the GOTG fandom, but my good friend really loves Stucky so this is for them! (Go check out their work!) This is my second attempt at the ship, please forgive me if there are copious amounts of holes in it!

_“I_ _n the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken:_

_for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”_

_-Genesis 3:19_

Steve never paid much mind to the sermons in church, was never one for scripture. He hadn’t had faith in a long time, and what little faith he did have was not in god. Still that verse whispered through the fog of his mind, the image of Bucky crumbling before him. His gut twisted, cramping his insides as he coughed and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Steve,” Natasha whispered, he turned trying to clear his mind. “Ready?” Steve willed a breath through his clenched jaw, barely nodding. _Ready…. ready for what?_ In truth he’d never been ready, for any of this. Summoning that captain’s courage, he crept steadily ahead, eyes scanning the tangled branches of the Wakandan forest waiting, watching for any sign of them. _Please…let it work…let it work…_ Steve’s mind whispered the mantra to himself as he walked slowly, a crack. He whipped around hope flaring in his chest only for it to die as a little animal scampered over a log. He wiped the sweat from his brow, _they should be here._ Recognition rising in him at the large fallen log before him. _He was right here…_ As if to confirm Steve examined the brush and leaves that scattered across the forest floor. Nothing. He shook his head,

“I’m sorry Tony,” he whispered, the death of the Avenger was apparently in vain. Spoiled as it was, Steve’s lion heart would not allow him to feel anything but grief for the privileged self-proclaimed billionaire philanthropist playboy. _Perhaps not all death is wrong…_ he’d thought, watching the mad titan’s body crumble away not a few hours earlier, _but Tony…shouldn’t have died for nothing._

“My king!” Steven turned towards where the trees thinned out. _Okoye!_ Her cry of relief sent his heart beating inexplicitly fast, he bolted for her, but stopped, watching as the patch of leaves before him shimmered and Wanda’s exhausted, bewildered form manifested.

“Wanda!” Steve crouched, watching her wide eyes search around, mouth agape. He grinned despite himself, “Wanda,” reaching out gingerly to grip her shoulders she trembled but smiled up at him slowly as it dawned on her.

“S…Steve…? Where….Where’s Vis?”

“He’s alright,” he patted her, “he’s back at the lab with Shuri, resting. He’ll be fine.” She nodded, shaking still but moved to stand, leaning against him. “That’s it…steady there,” Steve watched her rise. Once she made her stance however his attention stole away to that place. That place where Bucky fell. Where Bucky had called his name like they were kids again.

 _Steve…? A different kind of fear. Those eyes…innocence reflecting in them for the first time in years._ His gut burned with the image of it. _Focus, get Wanda to safety…Captain! Get Wanda to safety._ He disciplined himself, steeling himself and tightening his grip on her side as she berated him with questions, quite understandably. Still those eyes, _like the sky over the Hudson before a summer storm,_ they haunted and revived him.

“Steve!” Wanda pointed, _Buck?!_  Steve watched in ineffable anticipation as another figure came into being _Sam!_ He stared at him in breathless relief, grinning. Sam met his own eyes, that wry smile spreading across his face.

“That was some weird shit,” he managed, crossing the space between them as Steve wrapped his arms around him, clapping him on the back. “It’s good to be back,” Sam managed, voice cracking. Steve nodded, a whole breadth of unsaid words between them, _but there’s no time for that now,_ he reminded himself, forcing composure once more.

“How are the others?” Sam asked, greeting Wanda with a wary gaze.

“Their well, I think, we’re trying to find everyone now.”

“Bucky?” Steve pursed his lips, that stinging blackness gnawing at his insides with the mention of his name. He shook his head, thankfully the answer must have been sufficient enough that Sam followed in his steps as they headed back to the palace. They walked carefully, every beat of Steve’s heart demanding, _Go back, go back. For Buck._ His tunnel vision clouded all else but the image of Bucky, even as he guided Sam and Wanda through the immaculate halls of T’Challa’s palace. The king himself stood when they entered, clad in a robe and somehow reposed with dignity.

“You have found more of them?” He asked of Steve, head swimming. “Captain Rogers?” The man in question steadied his trembling hands and affirmed T’Challa.

“Wanda and Sam, any others?” He fought to keep the desperation from his plea. T’Challa narrowed his eyes, though Steve long since suspected that the Wakandan royal could see past any façade.

“Romanoff reports that Quill, Peter, Strange and the rest have been found. They are coming back now. We must gather as soon as everyone has returned,” his words drifted off, lost in Steve’s anxiety.

“Not everyone is back,” he snapped, with more vitriol then intended. T’Challa only looked him over.

“White Wolf?” Steve nodded, throwing his own gauntlet down. He leveled with T’Challa’s eyes _I am past asking for permission._ Yet he need not ask it. In silent agreement T’Challa shifted his focus to Sam,

“Come, let us make you comfortable.” With that, Steve took off. His mind and heart at last liberated from the constraints of everything else, at least for now. When no one was watching, when no one expected anything of him, those fleeting moments were the only times Steve felt true freedom. And yet Captain America had the duty to protect the freedom of everyone around him, before himself. A bitterly amusing irony in that. So, he ran, feet crunching the leaves and roots of the forest. Yellow, brown, green trees blurred before his eyes as he ran, the impulse he’d kept locked down finally able to run.

“Buck?!” Steve cried out to an empty world. “Bucky! James!”  He swatted at the jungle growth, pushing forward, scanning the ground for footprints. _Where is he? Buck…Buck?_ Steve leapt over the large fallen tree, stopping only to orient himself, breath panting. “Bucky?!” Something rippled, not three feet from him, Steve’s jaw clenched trying to repress the hope that it may be Bucky. It came to him with practiced ease after all these years. Still he pleaded and watched as the dust gathered around, taking shape of feet, legs, an arm… _an arm._ “Buck,” it came as a whisper instead of a cry and Steve ran forward, arms outstretched, the dust collecting in his hands. _Gun powder and metal, sweat, the walking through the crowds of the fair grounds,_ memories gathered round the aroma as Steve watched Bucky slowly emerged from nothing, falling forward. “I got you, Buck, I got you.” The full weight of his friend melted into him, _solid._

“Steve…” he whispered, fingers groping around the man’s arm as Steve lowered them down to the soft earth. Bucky’s hair shrouded his face, breath coming fast against Steve’s face.

“It’s alright,” he breathed, “I got you. Your safe,” he repeated, “your safe.” Bucky did nothing but breathe, clinging to him though he managed a small shake of his head. Steve allowed himself to sigh with relief as Bucky slowly pressed his head into the crook of his neck and sighed. The heavy load of the man never quite lifted, but perhaps eased for now. Around them only the thrum of insects buzzed, a light breeze drove the ex-Winter Solider to curl his fingers around Steve tighter, shifting his position closer, as if he were afraid to be swept away again. Somehow the ephemeral serenity of restfulness became eternity, brought by the weight of their closeness. _Safety._

“Is it over?” Bucky finally whispered, Steve pat him gently on the back, rubbing in soothing circles.

“Y…yes,” he sniffed, wiping his own eyes. “It’s over.” Gingerly Bucky drew his head up, tossing bedraggled hair from his face to reveal those tired eyes. Steve reached up a shaking hand, cupping the side of Bucky’s worn face as the man looked at him, exhausted and deprived but not without their spark. _Hope._ How he’d managed to retain it after all he’d gone through, even Steve had no idea.

“It’s over,” Bucky repeated, as if to reassure himself, a smile breaking across his face. Bucky loosened his hold a little, his eyes searching for something Steve hopped he could provide. “What are we gonna do now Stevie?” He whispered, haunted eyes looking around the empty forest. Steve shrugged, a thousand possibilities already wreaking through his mind.

“I don’t want to think about that right now,” he willed himself to stop the various outcomes formulating in his mind. _It doesn’t matter right now, all that matters is him. All that’s ever mattered, is him._ Wasn’t that a simple request? Steve had never asked much of life, besides Bucky’s happiness but even that had proved too much. The brush of Bucky’s fingers, warm and tender, and there, soothed him.

“Then we won’t think about it,” Bucky grinned, leaning forward. Steve held his breath, welcoming the proliferation of love and gentleness that lingered on the taste of his lips as they kissed.

\---

Bucky tried to conceal his displeasure at the Wakandan man who held a small device against his skin, _he will not hurt you. You are fine, it will be over soon, look at the others, they are fine._ The ex-winter solider trained himself to focus on the faces of all the others who had returned to the soul world.

“Very well,” the Wakandan man took the device away, instantly bringing a small sign from Bucky. “No residual effects detected in your system. This is the last day,” he smiled with that look of awe and disbelief Bucky had seen so often the past few days. “You should be able to go home today.” _Home,_ Bucky’s mouth twitched with the thought. _I haven’t been home in seventy years._ Home had been a cell, home had been a chamber, home was something he had, until recently, been something he no longer deserved.

“How did it go Buck?” He was barely through the double doors when Steve’s inquiry made him start.

“I’m clear,” he whispered, good naturedly. “They say I can go home today, wherever home is.” Steve nodded, “not like we have one.” At this Steve cocked his head, brow raised. _Oh no, not that look,_ Bucky thought, though it secretly elated him. 

“Actually, I spoke with Rhodes, who spoke with Ross. They worked out a deal.” _Deals, why is everything always a deal?_ Bucky rolled his eyes though Steve pressed him, “just come with me.” _Just come with me, to the general store, to the park, to the war, to the secret base of super powered humans and gods. Just come with me._ He followed Steve to the jet, just as he’d followed him, willingly everywhere else. _And I’d do it all again. It was worth all._ Bucky let Steve go first into the seats, watching as he buckled and sat back, shoulders straight. _Such a solider._ He sat down beside him, working to calm himself as the plane took off, that rattling, those glowing lights, the suffocating air. His fingers clenched in a tight fist, forcing the memories back, only opening to clutch even tighter at Steve’s hand.

“Thanks Steve,” he murmured. The rouge captain only squeezed his palm in return.

Some hours later they landed in New York, on the ceiling of a brick stone in Brooklyn, the air filling Bucky’s lungs with the familiar whiffs of salt, garbage, asphalt and trees

“What?” Steve wondered, looking at him. Bucky turned,

“I thought I forgot what it looked like,” he breathed. Steve touched his arm in a brief comfort before turning to Rhodes.

“I can’t thank you enough,” he smiled. 

“It’s nothing,” Rhodes waved away. “Told you, as long as you help us clean up the bureaucratic bull shit for the next few months, consider it done. After that, you never have to hear from or speak to anyone at Shield ever again.” Bucky waited while Steve took care of the niceties, tapping his fingers against the chrome of his arm. The jet lifted off, it’s wind buffering against him with a force. 

“Alright Buck, let’s go.”  Steve opened the door, the dark stairwell leading to some unknown future.

\---

The future, as it turned out was something special and not so special at once. There was nothing intrinsically special about an apartment in Brooklyn. Even one with such a view, Bucky’s own family had a place not all dissimilar to this, more wall paper though. What was special was the way the golden sun streamed through the curtains, bathing the hardwood floors in a golden and stubble heat that warmed Bucky’s feet as he staggered his way to the coffee pot. He smirked down at it, _operated the most advanced weapons in Hydra’s arsenal and I still can’t work the damn coffee maker._ He laughed, pressing yet another round button and knitting his brows at the odd beeping. Finally, Bucky finagled the thing to get that precious piping hot coffee, it’s bitter, waking him from his fog. The floors creaked as he stepped, the only noise but for the muffled traffic outside. Our own private world, he thought, holding the mug to himself, watching it’s steam twist and rise and disappear into the air.

 _Opened,_ Bucky observed with a jolt, eyes scanning for threats. _Hydra, they sent someone, an agent,_ he set his coffee down, creeping towards the window, _look for shadows, any other damage?_ He surveyed as he moved. _Closer, closer, one…two…three._ He stuck his head out, fist ready to jab and…

“Steve!” Bucky realized with a start, halting in place. The impulse to attack fleeting as soon as Steve turned from his sketch pad. Buck heaved a sigh of relief at the feeling of calmness coming upon him once again so quickly. _Healing?_ “I thought you were still asleep.” He unraveled himself from the chair he crouched in, the morning sun brightly illuminating those blue eyes.

“The light isn’t the same,” he pointed towards the horizon. “It gets brighter and more yellowish white as the sun rises. You gotta get up early to make out all the lilac and purple.” Bucky took his mug up once more, leaning forward and climbing out on the fire escape, sitting down and letting his legs dangle between the bars as Steve continued. 

“Can I see?” In response Steve lowered himself down, muscular arms wound around his waist and Bucky looked down at the detailed illustration of the skyline.

“Like it?” Steve whispered, ticking his ear. Bucky nodded, following each stroke of the pencil and blend of color. Steve kissed his cheek, then pointed to the center of the drawing, the pale sunrise gracing the city, a moment encapsulated in beautiful blended color.

“What’s that?” Bucky asked, tilting his head against Steve’s and resting on it.

“That’s the end of the line,” He answered cryptically with a kiss on his cheek. Bucky laughed, the warm fuzz of sleepiness still welcome as he rested with Steve pressed against him. He nodded, looking from Steve’s drawing to the real cityscape before them. _After all this, the same horns blared and people yelling, the same streets._ Steve fingers gently grazed against the scars on Bucky’s side and he breathed deeply, he lifted a finger, bringing Steve’s face to his and kissing him. _This was home._


End file.
